


B414

by SLWalker



Series: Midnight Blue [14]
Category: Midnight Blue - Fandom, due South
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-28
Updated: 2012-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1997: <i>There weren't enough tears for the losses; not in him, not even in the rain.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	B414

There were two new white cruisers in the parking lot. Two more and an SUV on the way. Nipawin had finally come around in the queue and was getting new vehicles in lieu of the new building they were supposed to get; no more having to shuffle around vehicles or accept tired hand-me-downs from other detachments. They were due to get some more Mounties, too. Even if they were losing two.

At least the new units were Chevys, not Fords. Numbered B424 and B436, they sat like identical twins, shiny and new and with triple digits on the odometers. Sandy had tentatively staked out B436, even though he was waiting for his transfer to come through. Mitch was already gone. Hall had just transferred in a month ago, along with Allan.

Mike barely noticed. It seemed like it all happened in a blur; one day, Mitch said goodbye. A couple days later, Hall showed up. Then Allan. If Mike was introduced, he didn't quite remember. He must have been. Like it had been in the LMD, Mounties came and Mounties left; that was life in the Force. Nipawin wasn't really any different, in the end. Not really.

There were two new white cruisers in the parking lot. Mike looked at them, then walked through the darkness and rain to B414.

She probably was the last old-style blue-and-white that had been left on the road. Rust had started to stain her bumper, and her clearcoat had started fogging on the hood and roof. No money for repainting her; no more repair funds, no more maintenance funds. Mike couldn't even pay for it out of pocket. He would have. If he could have, he would have. But there were two new white cruisers in the parking lot, and B414 had taken her last patrol. Russ had told him a week ago, warned him that she was done, that the Force was ordering her auctioned off. He drove her right up until he had no other choice.

Neither of them mentioned B420, still wearing her blue-and-white. Mike moved Turnbull's cruiser into an empty space in the garage and covered her over. If Russ thought anything about it, he didn't speak up. Just stood in the door of the garage, unflinching under the open challenge, tired and distant.

420 stayed there. Untouched. He couldn't protect Turnbull, but he could at least protect Turnbull's cruiser.

Mike unlocked the door of his own cruiser and slid into his seat; closed the door, rested his head back. Closed his eyes and listened to the midnight rain coming down.

He had always threatened, jokingly, that they would get his cruiser when they pried her from his cold, dead fingers. Over his dead body. Them and what army. Because he had gotten 414 new, and with her came one of the warmest, happiest times of his life. He fell in love with Cindy. He fell in love with Nipawin. He built friendships. He hunted and fished and curled and played hockey sometimes, and he planned cookouts and he restored a house. He got his ninth rook. He patrolled afternoons and sometimes days and sometimes midnights; he responded to hundreds and hundreds of calls, rescued people, arrested people, lived eight hours or more a day sitting in this seat, drove thousands upon thousands of kilometers, maintaining the right, for years.

He knew, of course, that it wasn't permanent. But he thought he'd maybe arrange to buy this cruiser when time ran out. Fanciful, idealistic thoughts; he could keep 414 forever. Maybe sans police equipment, but still. He'd thought that before everything happened; could picture Russ goodnaturedly rolling his eyes, and Cindy smiling her knowing, head-shaking smile, and Turnbull would definitely understand. Mitch and Sandy would never stop teasing him about keeping his mistress and his wife on the same property. And he would keep his old cruiser; the Mountie with his favorite steed, even if he had to put her out to pasture.

In the end, he didn't. Didn't have the money, didn't have the strength. It was another goodbye, in a long string of goodbyes, and Mike felt each and every one, with every heartbeat.

When he came into work tomorrow, she would be gone.

No one would ever call for him with _bravo four-fourteen_ again.

Mike put his hands on the bottom of the steering wheel, and the bridge of his nose to the top. There weren't enough tears for the losses; not in him, not even in the rain.

But he gave what he had, anyway.


End file.
